


You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine

by galoots



Series: Loots Duck Universe (LDU) [9]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Major Depression, Scrooge being peak affectionate uncle, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Self-Loathing, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, who loves his nephew very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21564967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galoots/pseuds/galoots
Summary: You make me happy when skies are grayYou'll never know dear, how much I love youPlease don't take my sunshine away.
Relationships: Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck
Series: Loots Duck Universe (LDU) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1318364
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> A little warm up to get me back into fiction writing after finally finishing my thesis.

Donald flicked the switch of his SAD therapy lamp on, filling the air with a quiet electric buzz. For a half an hour every day, he was to sit in front of this lamp, blasting 10,000 lux directly into his face. This came at the recommendation of his therapist—a new addition to his life since he’d quit college to work on his mental health. The lamp was one of the many therapeutic aids he’d been advised to add to his life. Antidepressants, melatonin, weekly therapy sessions, daily meditation, light exercise, journaling, quality family time; it felt like the laundry list of remedies was endless. He has set up a spot in the living room for all this garbage: a desk with his journal, his medications, and his stupid, stupid lamp. He affectionately called it his depression corner—a name his uncle objected to for it’s dispiriting connotations, but it was his corner and he’d call it what he’d like.

Donald sighed as he settled into his chair, cracking open the novel he was currently halfway through. It was a remnant from one of the classes he’d been previously attending. There was no real reason to continue it, he had failed that class and slumped home in utter defeat, but pressed on with it any way. Not only was the novel unbelievably boring and tedious, but it reminded Donald of his own failure: his inability to take care of himself once he left home and the pathetic spiral of depression he’d soon found himself in. Reading this book made him miserable, but he slogged through it anyway as if finishing it would prove that he was at least _capable_ of something. Besides, he had nothing but free time, so why not spend a portion of that time reading?

He threw himself back into the grueling task of reading the same page over and over again—the words barely registering in his head, floating through the thick fog of his mind, before they were ejected back out on to the page. Slightly damp yet unprocessed. Ready to go throw the charade one more. He was on his fourth read-through of this particularly dense passage when he heard a familiar voice sound from over his shoulder.

“You’re sitting awfully close to that lamp, nephew. Has your eyesight degraded to the point you need that much light to illuminate your reading?”

Donald glanced over his shoulder at his uncle and shook his head. “Not that kind of lamp, Uncle Scrooge.”

Scrooge slid his arms over Donald’s shoulders, resting his chin in the crook of Donald’s neck. “What kind is it then?”

“The doctor recommended, alleviate your depression kind of lamp.” Donald sneered. “The sad kind all the cool depressed college drop-out’s use. The kind that comes highly recommended from all the other basement-dwelling losers online.”

His uncle frowned, furrowing his brow with concern as he stared into the bright white light. “You sure seem to have quite the… antipathy for what sounds like such a helpful little lamp. Is it not working?”

“It’s… not _not_ working… I just…” Donald let out a little huff of aggravation as he fiddled with the switch on the base of the device. Aggravation with himself, aggravation with his sorry circumstance, aggravation with the chemical failings of his own brain. “I just don’t like that I need it.”

Scrooge made a thoughtful noise, noncommittal but inquisitive, urging him to explain further.

“It’s just, like, _another_ stupid thing in a long regimen of things I have to do now. I hate that I need all this stuff _simply_ to function. I’m sick of it. Why can’t my brain work like it’s supposed to?”

Scrooge lifted himself off of Donald’s shoulders and gave his nephew a reassuring pat. “Functioning is good. We like functioning. Nothing wrong with that.”   
“I guess…”

“I need glasses to see properly, hearing aids to hear properly, and a cane to walk properly, don’t I?”

“Yeah…” Donald said.

“Are those bad?”

“No…” Donald sighed in response. His uncle was right of course, but it didn’t make it less annoying.

Scrooge planted a kiss on top of his head. “Keep at it, boyo. I know its not fun, but doctor’s orders.”

Donald shrugged in response, reopening his book to reread the text there for the fifth time.

His uncle rubbed his shoulders in support. “I’m going to make some tea. Want a cup? I can sit with you for a while.”

“No thanks, unkie.” Donald replied with glum monotone. He was feeling mired in his bad mood today, regardless of any avuncular pep talks or brightly simulated sunlight trying to cheer him up.

* * *

The next day he sat down in his chair. Same as always. Flipped on his lamp. Same as always. Opened his book. Same as always. Another series of monotonous tasks in a day full of them. In a _life_ full of them. But today something was different. His plain white lamp had been tampered with. Now a wreath of yellow petals cut from construction paper decorated its frame, meeting with green paper leaves at the bottom. It looked like a rogue pack of first-grader’s had unloaded their arts and crafts skill on his lamp overnight, giving the whole thing the appearance of a sunflower. A crooked, amused smile snuck onto his face as he observed the changes his lamp had undergone. On his desk, next to the lamp, sat a bundle of neatly wrapped presents. Clearly the careful administrations of his Puppa. Uncle Scrooge couldn’t wrap a present for the life of him and always had his husband take care of any wrapping jobs for him. He unwrapped them, tearing away the paper to reveal a stack of books—one of sudoku, the other of crosswords, and the third of logic problems. A new pencil, sharpened to a point, accompanied the books along with a cozy dark blue knit sweater. Inspecting the stitches, Donald didn’t see the orderly rows his knew Duckworth to be capable of, but the sloppy, inexperienced work of an amateur. There was no note to identify his mystery gift-giver, but Donald didn’t need one to know who was responsible for all of this. He slipped on his new sweater, one sleeve slightly longer than the other, but still comfy. He picked up one of the books of puzzles and the pencil, ready to pass the time.

As if on cue, like he’d been waiting for just this moment to occur, Scrooge rounded the corner, making headway towards the nook Donald occupied.

“Well, well, well!” Scrooge exclaimed. His poorly feigned surprise doing little to dissuade Donald of the obvious fact of his involvement. “Aren’t you the lucky one! It seems you’ve been visited by a helpful little elf overnight.”

“Seems so.” Donald covered his beak to stifle a chuckle. “Although this _elf_ didn’t realize that it doesn’t make much sense to turn a lamp into a sunflower.”

“Uh, er…” Scrooge stammered, his eyes opening as he started from Donald’s playful dig. “Well now the lamp needs _you_ to be _its_ light source, you see!” His uncle clapped his hands down on Donald’s shoulder, pleased with the answer he’d supplied on the spot. “You’ll have to sit here for the allotted time each day so it can get the proper amount of sunshine and grow up healthy and strong.”

Donald smiled, leaning his head back on his uncle. “How sweet. Did the _elf_ tell you that?”

“Yes.” Scrooge smiled benignly. “Yes, he did.”

Donald chuckled again, not bothering to mask it this time. He wasn’t fooled by his uncle’s utterly lacking acting skills, but he was happy to play along. “Well tell your elf friend thank you. I appreciate it very much.”

Scrooge rubbed his nephew shoulder’s warmly, gazing fondly down at him and soaking in the first genuine smile Donald had worn since he first came home. Although the circumstance by which Donald had returned home could have certainly been happier ones, Scrooge was relieved to see his little boy back in the nest again. The old duck felt like he’d been withering away ever since Donald left, but now he was here, back in his arms, back in their home, and finally smiling once again.

“I’ll go make us a pot of tea.” Scrooge whispered. He padded softly out of the room, doing his best not to disturb Donald, who had absorbed himself in solving the puzzle in front of him. His novel lay off to the side—forgotten. There was simply no need to finish it anymore.

Eventually it would be shelved along with his other books where it would sit and grow dusty without use. Donald would never finish, but that was for the best. Not all books need to be read to the end. Some are better left unfinished, waiting silently upon the shelf like a lonely sentinel, ready to be rediscovered during happier days.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Scrooge, you silly old man. You can feign ignorance, but you're not fooling anyone.


End file.
